


Empty Hands

by pharma_apologism



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, no beta we die like getaway, pharma isn't insane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharma_apologism/pseuds/pharma_apologism
Summary: Pharma survives and joins the (duplicate) Lost Light. He adjusts.Post LL 23.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Empty Hands

**Author's Note:**

> yooooo :))) i'm attempting a multi chapter fic here and idk how well this will go. i am not really good at sticking to projects. 
> 
> non-insane pharma is very developed in my head because i think ab him a lot and i wish he got to live normally for just a lil bit after all of that shit was thrown at him and because a lot of people interpret his character differently from how i do ig? anyways, this is just a lil thing ab how i think he'd be.
> 
> rating and warnings might change later.

Coming to was unpleasant and painfully slow. He could hear voices, but couldn’t make out any words or who they belonged to or how far they were. They sounded far off, but he couldn’t focus on them hard enough to determine. It took a few resets before his optics finally responded, and he was met with a bright light glaring down at him. He flinched and offlined his optics again. He groaned. Or maybe it came out as a whine. He probably sounded pathetic. 

“Hey, I think he’s waking up,” one of the voices said. Wait, he knew that voice. And the one that spoke after it, too.

“Finally,” the mech said. “I was starting to think he’d never.”

And the third voice. “Wouldn’t it be better that way?” 

The fourth voice he did not recognize. “Don’t say that, he might be able to hear you.”

Pharma did want to tell them that he was, in fact, able to hear them. He also wanted to tell them to _shut the hell up._ His vocalizer, however, was not ready to cooperate with his already hazy processor. He was being drugged, he realized. It had been awhile since he’d last been put on them, but he concluded the painkillers were not doing their job as he became increasingly aware of a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Painkillers probably weren’t the only thing he was being pumped with.

He flickered his optics online again to find a face peering down at him. Drift. 

“Yeah, he’s awake,” he called over his shoulder. A second later there were three more staring down at him, one he didn’t recognize, the fourth voice, First Aid, the third, and—ah—Ratchet. His luck.

“Do you know who you are?” Ratchet asked, sitting down on a stool beside the table upon which he laid. Pharma gave a weak nod. He couldn’t do much else. “Can you tell me your name?”

Why was he asking him this? Pharma shook his head. 

“Can’t? Or won’t.” First Aid said from the opposite side of him. 

Pharma glared. _Can’t,_ he mouthed. 

“Ah. Hold on,” Ratchet muttered. Then there were cold fingers in Pharma’s throat as Ratchet messed with his vocalizer. It was uncomfortable.  
Ratchet shut the panel on his neck. “Try now.”

Pharma reset it a few times more before trying to speak again. It came out laced with static, but that was definitely his voice. 

“Ph… Pharma,” he said, squinting up at Ratchet. “You should already know that.”

“Just making sure _you_ knew,” Ratchet grumbled. 

“Does he not remember what happened?” First Aid whispered. 

“Remember _what?”_ Pharma snapped. Ratchet and First Aid glanced at each other. Pharma tried to sit up but something prevented him from getting his arm beneath himself for support. There were restraints on his wrists. _Ah._ His head fell back against the table in defeat. The pain in his chest worsened. He hissed, grit his teeth and looked down. There was a sheet of metal welded over where a wound apparently was. 

“Adaptus?” First Aid asked warily. Pharma thought for a second—nothing—then a second more—still nothing—and then—

Adaptus. Right. _Right._ The portal, the Worldsweepers, Adaptus. Tarn, too. 

“I… remember,” Pharma grit out, staring straight ahead. 

“Good. It’s better you remember now than later,” Ratchet said. “Are you in pain?”

Pharma nodded, turning his head away, forgetting that First Aid and Drift were still standing there. He offlined his optics so he wouldn’t have to look at them. He wished they would go away. He hated the vulnerability. He wished they would just kill him right then and there; he knew they didn’t want him alive, anyway. So why did they save him?

“How…? Why?” He tried to ask, but couldn’t quite find the words. Thankfully, Ratchet understood. 

“A mnemosurgeon. I couldn’t tell you the details.”

Pharma shuddered. Ratchet didn’t answer the why and he barely answered the how. Pharma decided to drop it. He didn’t have the energy to question further. He wondered what happened to Tyrest. He would probably find out later, anyway.

Ratchet looked to First Aid. “Up his painkiller dosage. Not by much, he’s already having trouble staying awake.” First Aid nodded and went off to get something before returning and messing with some equipment that Pharma had just now realized was attached to him by wires and tubes. Ratchet shooed the others away after that, and Pharma noted how hesitant Drift was to leave. 

Ratchet looked down upon him with an expression that made Pharma uncomfortable for a reason he could not place. “You should rest,” he said, tone unreadable. Pharma nodded. Then Ratchet stood and left, leaving Pharma alone, without any distractions from the memories that were still coming back to him. He realized that Ratchet hadn’t mentioned the restraints.


End file.
